said, as
she bustled away with the little girl tugging at her skirts, not waiting
for the boys to disaffirm, as they most assuredly would have done had a
chance been given them, for they were not in the least hungry. But
then, what was a cold luncheon taken from a bicycle basket compared with
a warm breakfast that might include ham and eggs?

"She's awfully nervous, Nancy is," said the young farmer, a trifle
apologetically; "she would have it at brother Ed's that she was being
burned out of house and home. We oughtn't to have stayed, but brother
Ed urged us to go home with him. She's always that way when she's away.
We've ridden nineteen miles since daybreak, and she believed every mile
that we were going to see a burned-down house at the end."

"Well," said Old Tilly in a quiet way, so as not to alarm the young
farmer, "I guess she was about right this time. If we hadn't happened
here--" Then he slipped back into the barn, and the young farmer
followed after, and Old Tilly pointed to the blackened corner, while the
other two drew near interestedly.

"You see how it struck," Old Tilly said quietly, "but we put it out
after a while. It is well we happened to be right here."

The young farmer was gazing at the burned place, with his jaw dropped
and a look of terror coming into his blue eyes.

"It did strike! I should say it did!" he cried excitedly. "What will
Nancy say?"

[Illustration: "I should say it did strike!" he cried, excitedly.]

Then as a realization came to him that it was owing to the boys that
they had a roof over their heads, he turned first to one lad and then to
the other, and shook their hands heartily. There were tears in his
eyes, but he did not seem conscious of them. "I don't know what Nancy
'll say," he reiterated, as he shook one hand after the other up and
down like a pump handle. "We'll have to be everlastingly obliged to you
for the rest of our days," he said, trying to laugh a little. But his
voice choked, and he turned away to hide his emotion. Then he dropped
down upon a corn-cutter and insisted on hearing the story from beginning
to end, although Old Tilly declared time and again, with the other two
joining in, that "It was nothing."

"You call it nothing? Well, you wait until you've worked half a
lifetime, as Nancy and me have done, to get a place, and then see what
you think about it. I guess Nancy 'll believe it's something."

Then he stopped as a clear call, "Brea